A Wolf at the Door
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #63 Jim Kirk's adventurous young daughter cannot take all the blame when things start disappearing at his horse ranch.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Home from kindergarten, Elena True Kirk threw on her plaid jacket and skipped outside with an apple in her hand. The winter sunshine held little warmth. Wind blew her curly reddish-gold hair as she headed for the shelter of the barn. She knew that her father would not be there today—he was in Boise on business—but she wanted to share the apple with her pony, Shiloh.

Halfway across the yard, she paused and looked back at her big log home, where Mama was busy in the loft painting one of her canvasses. As Tru turned and continued toward the barn, a movement caught her eye. Over by the edge of the woods, a flock of birds was pecking at the ground.

Tru's heart leaped with excitement and she froze in her tracks. Then very slowly she began sneaking toward them. The birds were not very colorful, but they were plenty smart. Long before she could even try to catch one, they saw her and scattered into the trees. Disappointed, she walked over and looked at the ground. A few oats were strewn over the dirt—the same kind of oats that Daddy kept in a bin to feed the horses. What were they doing here?

Something stirred in a nearby bush. The oats forgotten, she edged closer to the native Serviceberry, her brown eyes searching for a bird, her free hand outstretched.

Suddenly she saw it—but it was not a bird, after all. Dark, hungry eyes peered out from behind the branches.

A scream rose in her throat, but no sound came out. She turned to run. Behind her, the bush crackled. Strong arms gripped her body, and a salty-tasting hand clamped over her mouth. They fell to the ground together.

oooo

Before bed, Jim Kirk went to check on the horses one last time. They had been restless all week. Even before entering the barn, he heard them nickering and moving about. Inside, he went from stall to stall, looking over the pregnant Appaloosa mares, making sure each horse had a blanket. The weather service predicted temperatures well below freezing tonight. On the way out, he passed the rack where he stored the horse blankets when they were not in use. The rack was empty.

Jim stopped and stared. Before dinner, there had been two extra blankets—he was _sure_ of it. And now they were gone.

Back at the house, he found Antonia already in bed, waiting for him. "Funny thing," he said as he sat and pulled off his boots. He told her about the missing blankets. "And I can swear that a whole sack of oats is gone, too." He looked at his wife with a puzzled expression. "Didn't you say that some food has disappeared from the kitchen?"

"Bread and cheese," she replied. "Tru probably used it to lure birds. You know how she's always trying to get one."

 _Tru!_ Of course that explained it, but Jim was annoyed. "I suppose the blankets are for the birds, too? I don't mind her using a handful of oats now and then—but a whole sack? That girl has some explaining to do."

A good night's sleep put him in a better mood, but it lasted only until he reached for his warmest shirt and discovered that it was missing from his closet, along with two others. A pair of pants and some socks were also gone.

"That does it," he declared.

Choosing a sweater from her dresser drawer, Antonia laughed. "Jim, look at yourself. Don't take it so seriously. She's only five years old."

"Five and a half."

"With a very active imagination. I can't wait to hear her excuse."

Antonia's dark, beautiful eyes made it hard for Jim to stay angry. Settling for a different shirt, he said, "You're right; it probably will be funny." But he could not resist adding, "At least, it better be."

Jim waited to broach the subject until breakfast was almost over. With everyone still seated at the table, he said, "Time for a game, Tru."

She smiled brightly in anticipation.

Taking a swallow of coffee, Jim set down his mug and said, "Tell me, what do all these things have in common? Bread, cheese, oats, socks, pants, shirts, and horse blankets."

Tru's smile faded and a rosy blush spread over her face. Staring down at her plate, she softly replied, "I…I don't know, Daddy."

"I'll give you a clue. They're all things that have disappeared around here. Do you have any idea who might have taken them?"

She gave no answer.

"Tru." Antonia's voice was gentle and persuasive.

The child shrugged. "It…it's probably…just somebody."

"Somebody?" Antonia coaxed. "Like you?"

Tru's eyes shifted toward the open door, with its view of the living room. Antonia followed Tru's line of sight to the fireplace mantel and her mouth dropped open in dismay. "My Indian baskets!" Bolting out of her chair, she rushed over for a closer look. Two of them were gone, alright. "Those were authentic 19th century, the real thing!" There was no amusement in her eyes as she stalked back to the kitchen and confronted her young daughter. "Elena True, what have you done with them?"

Tru's lower lip began to tremble.

Jim felt his patience slipping. "Well, young lady, I don't know what you're up to, but you're going to have a big spanking to go with your big imagination if anything else goes missing. Do you hear me?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears and the corners of her mouth tugged downward. "Yes, Daddy."

oooo

On Saturday, Tru saddled her black and white pony and asked her father to cinch the girth strap tight.

Taking care of it, he said, "Have you found your mother's Indian baskets yet? They're not bird feeders, you know."

"I'm trying," she answered in a small voice.

Daddy shook his head. "Don't go any farther than the top meadow," he warned, though she already knew the rules. She _never_ rode beyond the meadow alone.

His sharp eyes watched as she mounted Shiloh and slung a little cloth sack over the saddle horn. "What's that?" he asked.

"Apples," she said, knowing there were cookies tucked under them.

He loosened the drawstring, peeked inside, and seemed satisfied.

Tru hurried Shiloh down the trail to the meadow. As she broke into the clearing, a small herd of antelope raised their heads and gazed at her curiously. A distinctive birdcall sounded somewhere to her left. Shiloh pricked his ears and Tru turned him toward it. In the shelter of the trees, she reined the pony to a stop and dismounted.

A dark, graceful figure appeared. The boy was a lot taller than Tru, and handsome, with long straight hair as black as her mother's. Even wearing Daddy's big clothes, and with a quilted horse blanket wrapped around his bony shoulders, he seemed as dignified as a Vulcan.

Tru handed him the bag of food. "This is all I could bring you. They're noticing things and asking questions. I got into trouble."

The boy's dark eyes widened and darted nervously toward the meadow. "Did you tell them? About me?"

"Of course not," she said, offended. "That first day…when you grabbed me…I was scared then, but not anymore. Now you're my _friend_."

He relaxed. "Good Tru. I will give you a new name. True Friend. I won't make any more problems for you. I will take care of my own needs. Come and see."

He sprang atop her pony and reached down for her.

"But…" Tru stammered, "but Daddy said I can't go past this meadow—not alone."

"You aren't alone," he pointed out. "You are with Lame Wolf. _Come_."

Lame Wolf. So that was his name.

It was a pleasant ride through forests and meadows, to a remote canyon. Along the way, they shared the apples and cookies. At last they forded a small, icy stream and came to a cave set in the gray stone of the mountainside. They dismounted and entered the cave. Not far from the entrance was a mound-shaped structure made from tree branches thickly covered with mud. Tru followed Lame Wolf as he bent over and went inside. Embers glowed in a central fire pit. The air was warm.

"This is nice," she said.

They sat on a horse blanket spread over the dirt. Lame Wolf showed Tru her mother's Indian baskets full of pine nuts he had gathered. Tru had given him those baskets. How could she ask for them back?

Lame Wolf offered her a piece of smoked fish. Biting into it, she made a face and said, "It needs salt. Maybe I can find you some. No one would notice if a little salt was gone, would they?"

The two of them left the shelter, and the boy led her down a game trail to a snare he had made for catching rabbits. "I have two pelts already," he boasted. "Soon there will be enough for a warm wrap."

Hopefully, Tru asked, "Do you ever catch birds? Can you catch me one for a pet? A pretty one?"

"A wild bird would die," he answered. "It is born free and it must live free." He saw her disappointment. "But I have a gift for you in my wickiup."

Back at the cave, he went into his shelter and quickly returned with a handful of colorful feathers—red, yellow, and blue. "Here, True Friend. These are for you."

Overjoyed, she sorted through the collection and then put them safely into her cloth sack. They mounted Shiloh, and as they made their way back to the ranch, Lame Wolf told stories about the different birds that had lost the feathers, and about other animals in the mountains. In response to her questions, he explained how he had come to live among the trees like the wild birds she loved.

They reached the far edge of her father's meadow. The boy slipped from Shiloh's back and looked with longing at the big pony. "You are lucky," he said, "to have such a fine animal…but the finest of all is the gray stallion, Warcloud. I saw the name on his stall in the barn. A good name for an Appaloosa."

Tru rode the rest of the way home alone. Without Lame Wolf beside her, she began to worry. She had been gone for so long that her parents would be upset.

Mama was standing on the porch and saw her first. Speaking into her wrist phone, she ran into the yard. "She's here, Jim! She just rode in and she's okay." She confronted Tru with an angry expression. "Where have you _been?_ You know you're not allowed to ride past the meadow by yourself!"

"I…I wasn't alone," Tru said, fighting back tears.

"Shiloh doesn't count," Mama said with her hands on her hips, "and you know that. "

They had just finished putting Shiloh in his stall when Daddy rode in on horseback and dismounted. One look at his stern face and Tru began to cry. Taking the sack from her hand, he looked inside and saw the feathers.

"Out chasing birds," he said angrily. "Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?" She hung her head and cried harder. "From now on, you don't get on Shiloh unless someone is with you. Is that clear?"

After he spanked her, she did not feel like riding, anyway.

oooo

Warcloud was missing. It happened one night as snow drifted down, covering the horse's tracks. Jim found the barn door ajar and Warcloud's stall wide open. "As if someone wanted it to look like negligence," he said. "As if I hadn't closed the barn last night and carefully checked everything."

At breakfast, Tru sat frozen with fear. Would her father think she did it? Every time he looked at her, she shriveled up inside. Before school, she put on her jacket and ran out to the barn. Atop a wooden slat of Warcloud's stall, she found a single pine nut. Her heart sank as she took it from the board and stared at it. There was no doubt in her mind that Lame Wolf was the culprit. Now what was she going to do?

The answer seemed simple enough. She would have to make Lame Wolf give the stallion right back, or there would be trouble of the worst kind.

Since Daddy had forbidden her to ride alone, she left Shiloh in his stall and set off on foot. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, but the air was very cold. As much as possible, she kept to the woods. There was less snow beneath the trees, so her tracks would be harder to find. But the way was much longer than she remembered. Her feet became numb and her legs began to hurt. After a while she grew so tired and hungry that she no longer worried about mountain lions and bears.

At last Lame Wolf's cave came into view. Warcloud's head peeked out, and as Tru trudged toward him, he nickered at her.

Lame Wolf heard the sound and came out of his wickiup. He saw her balancing on the stones of the creek. "True Friend!" he called out. "Where is Shiloh? Why are you walking?"

Tru made it across without falling into the water. She felt so miserable that the words just tumbled out. "Daddy said I can't ride Shiloh…and now you're in big trouble, too. You took Warcloud!"

Lame Wolf shrugged. "What does it matter? Your father has many horses."

"Warcloud is his prize stallion! The horse isn't yours, and that's stealing."

Lame Wolf stood tall. "Warcloud is mine now. If your father wants the horse back, let him come. I will fight him."

Tru pictured Lame Wolf and Daddy fighting, and began to cry. Lame Wolf had a sharp knife. Someone was sure to get hurt.

The sight of her tears softened the boy. "Why, you are nothing but a baby. Come, little one, I will take you home."

Tru gnawed on pine nuts and dried meat while Lame Wolf slipped a handmade bridle over Warcloud's head and brought him out of the cave. The day was growing dim and it began to snow. After leaping onto the horse's back, he pulled Tru up in front of him and held her with one arm. Tru had never ridden Warcloud before. She clung tightly to his dark gray mane as they loped along, but her strength was nearing its end. She was glad when the big horse slowed to a walk. By the time Lame Wolf set her down, her entire body ached and her legs were wobbly.

"They are searching for you," he said low, and pointed through the trees. "One of them is nearby. After I leave, call out. He will come to you."

Lame Wolf spun the horse around and was gone. Big flakes of snow swiftly covered his tracks. Tru stood alone, shivering. Something moved in the woods. 

"Hello!" she shouted, her heart pounding with fear.

"Tru!" A familiar voice answered. "Tru, where are you?"

"Jamie! I'm here! I'm over here!"

A tan horse with a black mane came into view. Spock's son rode over on Biscuit and dismounted. The teenager dropped to one knee and put a warm arm around her. Then he spoke into his wrist phone.

oooo

Antonia stood at Tru's bedside, watching her cough in her sleep. It was evening. The doctor had come and gone. A virus, he said, complicated by exposure. A few days of rest, a bit of medication, and she would bounce right back. When she thought of what might have happened out there in the wilderness, a little cough did not seem so terrible. At least Tru's illness was serving one good purpose—it had tempered Jim's anger over the incident, but he was still simmering. And so was Antonia.

Quietly she left the bedroom and joined Jim downstairs, where he sat nursing a small glass of bourbon. Since recovering from alcoholism he rarely drank, even on social occasions. But as she settled on the opposite side of the sofa, he swallowed the liquor in one gulp.

"She's asleep," Antonia said, sitting stiffly.

"She went out looking for Warcloud… _on foot."_ Jim spoke as if he could not quite believe it.

"That's her story." Antonia's irritation flared. "Must be that Kirk blood of yours. Fearless. Always hungry for adventure."

Jim lunged to his feet and confronted her. "Kirk blood! This is the second time she's wandered off. You're her mother. If you didn't spend so damn much time in that loft painting, you might know what she's up to."

The words cut deeply and Antonia felt her temper heating. "I was _not_ in the loft this morning! Don't talk to me about responsibility! You're the one who takes her into the wilderness, and now she thinks she can go off any time she wants."

Jim turned away and stalked upstairs.

Antonia spent a miserable night on the sofa. Twice, Tru called out to her and she tended to the child, but her confidence had been shaken. Was she really a bad mother? Just before dawn, she nodded off. When she next opened her eyes, it was daylight. Jim sat on the edge of the sofa, his face full of apology. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek, and her heart reached hungrily for the warmth of his love.

"I didn't mean it," he said.

Antonia sighed and caressed his arm. "Me too. How is she this morning?"

oooo

Tru did not feel good at all. Her body was full of pains. Her throat felt scratchy and her chest hurt every time she coughed. She did not feel like eating, so Mama brought juice. Out past her windows the snow kept drifting down, and she thought of Lame Wolf safe in his wickiup, warming himself over a fire.

All morning her parents kept checking on her, pressing their cool hands to her forehead and cheeks, using a thermometer to see if her temperature had gone higher. When Tru was alone, she made mountains and canyons out of her blankets, and played with miniature horses and people.

"My name is Lame Wolf," said the boy doll with the horse. "You better go home, Tru. You're nothing but a baby."

Back home, the Daddy doll was mad. "You're a bad girl, Tru! Sneaking around all the time and stealing things!" Smack, smack, he spanked her.

The Tru doll cried. "But Daddy…"

"I don't want to hear it, Tru! You're a rotten kid!"

The little red-haired doll shouted back at him, "I am not rotten and my name isn't Tru! It's True Friend! Lame Wolf needs those things and I had to take them! But _he's_ the one who took your horse! Not me!"

Then the Daddy doll went looking for Lame Wolf and there was a big fight.

"Daddy, be careful!" warned the Tru doll. "He has a knife!"

Out in the hallway, Antonia had heard Tru talking and listened near the open door. Then she found Jim and told him about the play conversation. They came up to Tru's room together. As they walked in, Tru fell silent and pushed her toys under the covers.

Casually, Antonia asked, "How are you doing, honey?"

"Not so good," Tru said with a painful cough.

Antonia and Jim sat down on the bed. Antonia said, "I heard you playing. Which doll is Lame Wolf?" Tru's eyes widened. "Is there a real Lame Wolf? A boy you give things to? A boy who took Daddy's horse?"

Tru just stared at the bedcovers.

Jim spoke sternly. "Tru, this is serious. If you know who's taken Warcloud, tell me, because I've already called the sheriff."

Tru's brown eyes darted to him. "No, Daddy! I don't want him to get into trouble. He's not really bad at all."

Antonia's heart lurched. "Then…there really is someone. Someone out there…with a knife."

Tru gave a reluctant nod. "He's older than me…and he looks like you, Mama."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "He looks like a woman?"

"No. He's a teenager with long black hair, and he looks like Mama. Kind of brown."

Now they understood.

"And he calls himself Lame Wolf?" Antonia asked.

Tru nodded again.

"Where does he live?" Jim's voice was taut.

"All alone near a creek. In a little house made of sticks and mud. He calls it a wickiup."

Jim met Antonia's worried glance, then turned his attention back on their daughter. "You've been out by the creek with this boy? What does he say to you? What does he do?"

Tru explained, "He told me my name is True Friend because I'm nice to him. We talk…and he shows me things."

"Things?" Jim repeated. "What kind of things."

Antonia took his hand and listened tensely.

"Just things. How to ride a horse without a saddle. How to catch a fish without a hook. How to tell an animal by its tracks. How to whistle like a bird. He has a little flute—a lot smaller than Uncle Spock's, made out of wood."

Antonia began to relax. "That sounds innocent enough. In fact, it sounds as if you've been studying Native American culture at school."

Jim was growing equally incredulous. "So there's a boy…living all alone in the woods…in this weather. I'm not sure if I believe it, but I'll tell the sheriff just in case."

Tru reared up off the pillow. "No, Daddy! Please don't! I'll show you where Warcloud is; I'll take you there, I promise!"

oooo

A week passed before Tru was well enough to brave the outdoors. It was February, and winter still held the land in its icy grip. Jim bundled Tru into a warming suit and with the child at his back they set off together, riding double on his gentlest Appaloosa. He was prepared to be disappointed. The child's story about an Indian boy sounded incredible. All week he had overflown the forest and canyons in his skimmer, using its sensors to search for his missing stallion. The abundance of wildlife confused the readings, but Warcloud had most likely been loaded into a hover truck and hauled somewhere far away. And now the trail was cold. Freezing cold.

Thick puffs of vapor rose from their breath as the horse carried them deeper into the wilderness. Now and then Tru ordered a change in direction, and Jim compliantly urged the Appaloosa down game tracks, through icy streams, and up a snow-choked canyon.

"Daddy," she said, her arms snug around his waist, "are you still mad at me?"

"Not if you're telling the truth," he replied.

"I _am_ ," she insisted. "You'll see. We're almost there now."

He shuddered to think of her walking all this way in the snow, an easy prey to the mountain predators. It was easier to believe that she was making the whole thing up, and they were just acting out a child's imaginary story.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper and she pointed. "Right here, Daddy. See? Up ahead, in the cave."

Jim pulled up on the reins. The horse stopped. From the cover of the trees, he looked beyond a creek and studied the rocky hillside. Suddenly he saw the cave. Taking out a handheld scanner, he switched it on and watched the readings appear. His eyes widened. "Will you look at that," he said softly.

The readings clearly showed a human and a horse.

Tru whispered, "Be nice to him, Daddy. Be careful, too. Remember, he has a knife."

Jim put the scanner away. He gave the cave one last look, then turned his horse toward home.

Tru was surprised. "What are you doing? Aren't you going to talk to him? Aren't you going to get Warcloud?"

"Not with you here," Jim answered. "But I'll be back, kiddo, believe me."

oooo

The following morning was a Saturday. Jim would set out fresh, and this time come fully prepared. At first light, Spock flew in from Plum Creek with his sons, Simon and James. The four of them rode horseback to the vicinity of the cave, then circled around on foot, ready to close in on Jim's signal.

Warcloud's nicker gave them away. Alerted by the sound, a slim brown-skinned boy emerged from his rude shelter and saw them. His black hair flying, he lunged to escape, but Simon and James caught him on the run and they tumbled into the snow together. Spock jogged up and reached into the scuffle with his gloved hands. Pulling the boy upright, he held him securely. Jim arrived and quickly relieved the young prisoner of a hunting knife sheathed to his leg. Then Jim took stock of him. The boy's coloring and strong, handsome features left no doubt as to his Native American ancestry. The outsized clothes under his fur wrap—Jim's pilfered clothes—hung loosely on his thin frame. His boots were disintegrating—the worn soles bound by leather strips. He looked ragged but remarkably clean for someone living in the middle of nowhere.

Spock tightened his vicelike grip as the boy fought to free himself.

"Settle down!" Jim told him. "We're not going to hurt you."

The young Indian strained defiantly.

Jim looked at his Vulcan friend. "Go ahead, then. Do it."

Spock used his teeth to pull the glove from his right hand, then his bare fingers found a shoulder under the boy's wrap. The Indian stiffened and went limp. Spock gently lowered him to the snow, then leaned down and retrieved his glove.

"Fascinating," the Vulcan remarked. "You say he spoke to Tru?"

Jim nodded. "He's not feral, at least in the textbook sense. Let's get him and Warcloud back to the ranch. Maybe he'll do some talking there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tru looked on as Lame Wolf sat stiffly in her father's chair, meeting each question put to him with stubborn silence. She felt sorry for him…and ashamed. She had not been a True Friend, after all. She had betrayed Lame Wolf's trust. If only he had not stolen Warcloud!

Mama and Daddy perched on the edge of the sofa, facing him. Nearby, Jamie had settled on the floor. Uncle Spock and Simon stood by the fireplace, their arms folded, watching intently. For a moment everyone was so quiet that the crackling of the fire seemed loud.

Then Daddy said, "Okay, we'll try this one more time. Young man, are you going to talk, or do I hand you over to the sheriff?"

The dark eyes raked over Tru, then settled on her father.

Daddy asked, "Who are you?"

The boy opened his mouth and said, "Lame Wolf."

It was the first time he had spoken to them. Everyone was surprised and relieved.

"That's better," Daddy said. "Now, what's the rest of your name?"

"Duncan."

"Duncan Lame Wolf?"

Silence.

Daddy asked lots of questions. "How old are you? Where are you from? Where's your family? What were you doing in the woods?"

More silence.

Daddy looked at Spock. The Vulcan raised a slanted brow. Daddy looked at Mama. Then his eyes settled on Tru. She knew he was going to call the sheriff unless someone could tell him more.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "He's almost fourteen."

As everyone turned to her, she scrunched down in her chair, embarrassed. Lame Wolf's eyes flamed, and she tried not to look at him. Getting up, she walked over to her father and he put his arm around her. She knew that she had to tell him everything.

Hesitantly she began, "Lame Wolf…never knew his parents. He…he lived with his grandfather, White Elk, in Oregon. White Elk taught him the old ways before he died. When the earthquakes came and the land started to break up, a social worker sent him to an old aunt here in the Sawtooth Mountains, where it was safer. Her name was Lydia and she had a grown son…who sometimes drank too much and hit him. Last year, his aunt died, too, and…and Lame Wolf ran off into the forest. Please don't send him away, Daddy. He's not bad."

Her father turned his attention back to the boy. "You have no other family? No one besides the man who hit you?"

"The earth is my mother," he replied. "The bears are my brothers."

Daddy got a strange, faraway look on his face. After a moment he got up and placed a hand on Lame Wolf's bony shoulder. Gazing into the boy's eyes, he said, "It's alright, son, relax. You're among friends here."

oooo

"Jim, I don't like this, "Antonia said. They lay side by side in bed, staring up at the darkness. "I keep thinking about Lauren and Teresa. Spock took that Vulcan boy into his home, and Sobek murdered them. We don't really know anything about this Duncan Lame Wolf, except that he's a thief. I don't want him around Tru. If you won't listen to me, listen to Spock. We should just turn Lame Wolf over to the authorities and be done with it."

Jim knew that Spock and Antonia had valid concerns, but he was not ready to hand the boy over. "He's out in the tack room. The house is locked."

"What makes you think he's going to stay in the tack room?"

"He likes horses." Jim braced himself for an argument. "And I told him if he stayed here and helped out, I wouldn't press charges."

"You _what?"_ Antonia turned her face toward him. "Jim, it's not legal to keep him here. Even if he really has no family, the authorities will decide where to place him. And what about school?"

Jim had no ready answers; she was right on all counts.

After a moment she said, "Why are you so interested in that boy? Is it because of David? Because you lost your son?"

Deep inside him memories were stirring, but they were not of David. In his mind's eye he saw pine trees, blue sky, a sparkling lake. His heart beat faster. "Antonia…there's something I have to tell you." Reaching for her hand, he held it tightly. "It was during the first five year mission aboard the _Enterprise_. We stopped at a planet endangered by a large asteroid, and I became separated from the rest of the landing party. In the process, I received an injury that temporarily took away my memory. The others had to leave. I was left there alone, but a tribe of Indians took me in. Their leader treated me like some kind of god."

"Indians?" she questioned. "American Indians…out in space?"

"Transplanted like seeds, by a super-race called the Preservers."

"The Preservers; I've heard of them," she said. Her hand left his. She rose onto one elbow and gazed at him, eyes glimmering in the dark. "So what happened?"

He hesitated. "It was like living in paradise. For a time, that simple life was all I knew. There was a maiden…named Miramanee. She…became my wife. She carried my child."

As Antonia sat upright, he could sense her shock, her anger. Then she said, "You told me you were never married!"

"I didn't even know who I was," he replied in his defense. "There was an Indian ceremony. It all seemed like a dream."

"But you loved her…"

"Yes," he admitted, "I had feelings for Miramanee…but she died long before the child was ready to be born. She was stoned to death when the tribe realized I wasn't a god, and turned on me. By that time Doctor McCoy had arrived, but even he couldn't save her."

Antonia was very quiet. Then she said, "Jim, I knew there were other women. But a _wife?_ Why didn't you tell me?"

Pulling himself fully into the present, he explained, "Starfleet didn't consider it a legitimate marriage. And it all happened a long, long time ago…but the memory of that simpler way of life was, in part, what led me to live in these mountains and breed Appaloosas."

"In part?"

Jim turned and tenderly touched her face. "You know full well what your love means to me."

At that, she relented and went into his arms.

oooo

In the morning, Lame Wolf was gone.

"What now?" Antonia asked Jim. Though she was relieved, there was no mistaking the disappointment on his face.

"I don't know," he admitted.

It was Sunday. After breakfast, Antonia got Tru ready and flew her daughter to church in the skimmer. After Mass, Tru went out to watch her father train yearlings in the corral. Antonia was alone in the kitchen when she turned and found Lame Wolf standing nearby, watching her. Startled, she sucked in her breath and put a hand to her pounding heart.

The boy's arm moved. Now she noticed that he was holding something; not the knife she feared, but her missing Indian baskets.

He said, "These are yours. I did not take them."

Antonia swallowed away some of the fear and found her voice. "Thank-you."

His dark, steady eyes scrutinized her. "Are you Indian?"

The question took her by surprise. It was true; her skin tone and hair were similar to those of Native Americans. Was that how Jim saw her, too? Indian, like his Miramanee? "There is some Indian blood in my background," she revealed. "A long time ago, Spaniards intermarried with the Native Americans down in Mexico. My ancestors came from there."

The chili for lunch was warming on the stove. The boy looked so thin and hungry that she found herself asking, "Would you like something to eat?"

He drew himself up proudly. "I tend to my own needs."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," she replied, "but we have plenty of food and I'd like to share it." Without waiting for a response, she dished up a big bowl of warm chili and set it on the table with a glass of milk. Then she took a chair and waited.

Lame Wolf stared at the food, then at Antonia. She encouraged him with a nod.

He sat down, put the baskets on the table, and began to eat. The bowl was almost empty before he spoke. "This is good," he said. "Your husband did not call the law. Why?"

"He likes you," she told him. His chili was all gone. Without asking, she rose and refilled it from the pot.

Lame Wolf resumed eating. Between bites he asked, "Where is your little daughter? At school?"

The mention of Tru stirred Antonia's uneasiness. "It's Sunday. She's out with her father. Are you angry that she told about you? She only meant to help."

"I suppose," he said, "that she did not know any better. She has not been educated in the old ways of our people." Drinking some milk, he added, "I went to school when I lived with Grandfather, but he taught me much more. The old aunt kept me at home."

Half an hour later, Jim walked in and found them seated side by side at the table. Lame Wolf was reading Native American stories aloud from a Padd that Antonia had programmed for increasing levels of difficulty.

"He's quite a proficient reader," Antonia told her stunned husband, "but his math skills end with basic arithmetic."

Wide-eyed, Jim said, "Did I miss something? Last night I thought you said…"

"He came to see me. He brought back my baskets."

"Well, of course," Jim said with a wry expression, "that explains everything."

But she could see that he was pleased.

oooo

One day after school, Tru came upon Lame Wolf in the barn, cleaning out stalls. He had not spoken to her since her father brought him to the ranch. He slept on a makeshift bed in the tack room, and she was no longer allowed to go there. At mealtimes, he preferred to take his plate outside, or into the barn. He would only sit at the table when he was alone with Mama.

Now Tru edged up to the boy and asked, "Aren't you my friend anymore? I _had_ to tell Daddy. He would have handed you over to the sheriff."

He stabbed at the soiled straw with a pitchfork. "You are a child, and children talk too much."

"But…" She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

Just then, Daddy walked up. "Lame Wolf," he said, "you've been doing a fine job on these stalls. I want you to help me exercise the mares. They're pregnant, so no hard riding. And stay on the established trails."

Lame Wolf stopped his work and stood holding the pitchfork. "Now?"

"Yes, a different horse each day. Start with her." He pointed to the speckled brown mare in the nearest stall.

With a light step, Lame Wolf bridled the horse and hopped onto her bare back.

After he rode off, Tru said, "Daddy, what if he takes her? He stole Warcloud."

Her father looked down at her. "I told him there would be no more stealing. That goes for both of you."

Tru felt her face go red. She went out to the porch steps and sat waiting in a patch of winter sun until the cold drove her indoors. Darkness settled over the land, and though there was a light in the barn, she was not sure if Lame Wolf had ever returned. But when dinner was ready, Daddy came in the house and Lame Wolf was with him. For the first time, they all sat down to the table together. While Mama was saying a prayer, Tru peeked and saw the Indian boy open his hands to the sky and gaze upward. She had seen him pray like that in the woods, where God seemed very near.

Lame Wolf spent another night in the tack room, and early next morning they found him back at work cleaning stalls.

oooo

Antonia told Jim that she was going to conduct a quiet search for Lame Wolf's family. She sent a long black hair to a DNA lab, and a full identification of the boy came back. His name was Duncan Redfern of the Shoshone tribe. The aunt's brutal son was at a prison colony, and there was no record of any other living relative.

Antonia and Jim puzzled over the boy's name. For now, they kept the DNA information to themselves and continued to call him Lame Wolf.

Jim decided it was time for Lame Wolf to bathe. He knew that the boy washed himself in the icy water of the creeks, but there was no substitute for soap. One day when Tru was at school, he led Lame Wolf into the downstairs bathroom. Jim showed him the underwear, denim jeans, and warm shirts he had bought. Beside the clothes, there was a comfortable pair of boots and plenty of socks.

"These are yours," Jim said in the tone of command. "I want you to use this toilet, instead of the outdoors. I want you to wash yourself in the shower with warm water and soap. Wash your hair, too…and your teeth." Jim showed him the toothbrush and paste beside a comb on the counter.

Lame Wolf stared at the toothbrush. "I use a frayed twig. It is better."

"Maybe so," Jim said, "but use this, too."

Lame Wolf turned and looked at the shower.

"There's a lock on the bathroom door," Jim told him. "No one will walk in on you." At that he left, wondering if the boy would cooperate.

Half an hour later, Lame Wolf emerged, smelling like soap, his long wet hair neatly parted and combed. The clothes Jim had chosen fit him nicely, compared to the oversized items Tru had pilfered from Jim's closet.

The boy glanced down at his new warm boots, then looked at Jim. "I will repay you."

"Repay me? You've been putting in a lot of work around here. I figure I owe you some decent clothes."

Lame Wolf's face was solemn. Suddenly he said, "The sons of Spock the Vulcan call you 'uncle', yet Spock is not your brother."

Jim broke into a smile. "Spock is…my _blood_ brother." He had noticed that Lame Wolf never called him by any name. On inspiration he asked, "Would you like to call me 'uncle'?"

The boy's eyes brightened. "Uncle. Yes. That is good."

oooo

February drew to a close. The snow fell less often, and sometimes it mingled with rain. For days at a time, the sky cleared and the mountain breeze carried a promise of spring.

On one such day, Lame Wolf appeared before Jim carrying his fur wrap and said, "My lodge is calling to me."

Jim was shaken. "You want to leave?"

"Three days," Lame Wolf explained. "I will be back…that is, if you want me back, Uncle."

"If…" Jim swallowed his surprise. "Of course I want you back." Reluctantly he returned the boy's confiscated knife and loaned him a horse. His heart felt heavy as he watched Lame Wolf ride off, but in three days the boy returned to the ranch, looking proud and content. After that, he occasionally spent time at his wickiup when the weather was good.

"It worries me," Antonia said. Jim was with her in the loft. She had begun a portrait of Lame Wolf, working from a photo she had taken of the boy seated on Warcloud. Jim noticed the care that went into each brushstroke.

Though he had his own misgivings, he said, "That boy lived on his own for a year. He's clever, he's strong, and your cooking has put some meat on his bones."

"It still worries me," Antonia fretted. She dabbed the brush on Lame Wolf's dark hair. "I've been thinking…about that empty bedroom downstairs. Jim, when he comes back…"

oooo

The temperature plummeted. A late winter storm was forecast, but Lame Wolf reached the ranch before the snow started to drift down. Though he moved into the bedroom, he spent his days outdoors, working with the horses. When foaling time arrived, he insisted on sleeping in the barn to keep watch over the mares.

Late one night, Lame Wolf came into the house and tapped on Jim and Antonia's bedroom door. A mare was in trouble. Jim threw on his clothes and hurried out to the barn. He found the brown Appaloosa down on her side, shuddering with pain, her eyes white-rimmed with fear. A quick check told him that a vet was needed, and he put in the call.

It was a very difficult birth, but before dawn a gray, gangly-legged colt was standing below his mother, suckling warm milk. The vet had gone home. Jim watched Lame Wolf towel the last of the moisture from the foal's coat, and made a decision.

"You're very good with horses," he said. "You really helped calm the mare while the vet was working on her. And you heard him tell me that you saved this little guy's life. That's why I'm giving him to you."

Lame Wolf swung around, his dark eyes wide with amazement.

"There is, however, one condition," Jim added, "and it's a big one. People see you living here and they're starting to ask questions. You should be going to school. In order to get you registered, we need to file some papers that would make Antonia and I your legal guardians. You're fourteen now. The judge will ask you to choose between us or the guardianship of the Shoshone Tribal Council. The Council will want you to live among your own Native American people. And maybe you'd like that better than living here with us."

Tears moistened the boy's eyes and he turned to stroke the foal. He did not ask how Jim knew he was Shoshone. "Is this what you want…that I should stay? To help with the horses? The work?"

"It's true that you're a good worker," Jim said, "but that's not the reason we want to be your guardians. It's because we care about you and want you to be part of our family."

The boy stared at the foal in silence.

Jim drew in a deep breath. "We know that your name is Duncan Redfern. Why do you call yourself Lame Wolf?"

He replied in a quiet voice. "When I was twelve, I went alone into the Oregon hills. I fasted and prayed to God. On the third day, a dream came. I saw a little wolf limping all alone on a mountaintop. Maybe I, too, am meant to be alone." He got up, took his fur wrap, and started to leave the barn. Then pausing, he turned back and declared, "You say you want me to join you family, but you do not trust me."

oooo

At breakfast Lame Wolf's chair was empty, and Antonia asked, "Where is he?"

"He took off…on foot," Jim said, brooding. "I offered to give him a foal if he let us try for legal guardianship…but he said I don't trust him. What the blazes did he mean by that?"

"That's all he said?"

Jim let his pain spill. "He's sleeping under our roof, caring for my best horses. I let him wander off to his lodge any time he feels like it. But he says I don't trust him!"

Tru sat unnoticed, eating away at her pancakes. "Daddy, you let me ride with you and Mama and Jamie, but you don't let me ride out with Lame Wolf. You never have."

"Aha!" Antonia set down her coffee. "Bright girl. Jim, you trust him with a sharp knife, you trust him with your horses, but not with your daughter. Not with True Friend. That must be what he's thinking."

Tru looked at her father, brown eyes questioning. "Why don't you ever let me go with Lame Wolf?"

It seemed to Jim that his women were ganging up on him. He gave Tru a stern look. "Because, young lady, as I recall, you got yourself into a lot of trouble with that boy."

Tru broke into tears and ran upstairs.

Antonia gazed steadily at her husband. "Is that really the reason? Because you don't trust Tru? Jim, if this is going to work, we have to do more than gain Lame Wolf's trust. We have to trust _him_."

oooo

A week passed. Lame Wolf had never been gone so long before. Jim began to wonder if the boy would ever come back. After all, he had left without saying. Maybe this time he had not gone to the lodge at all. Maybe he had set off on some new trail, deep into the wilderness, and they would never set eyes on him again.

With the approach of spring, Jim released the mares and their foals into the low pasture. He stood alone at the gate watching Lame Wolf's colt frisk in the lush grass. He knew how the boy loved horses, yet Jim's trust was worth more to him than a horse of his own.

Tru ran up to the solar-powered energy fence and surveyed the year's crop of foals. "Daddy," she said, "can't we go see him? I miss Lame Wolf and so does Mama."

Jim lifted her into his arms and held her close to his heart. Only this morning Spock had warned him, _Let the boy go. What do you really know of him? It is better to err on the side of safety, than put your family at risk._

Spock was a good friend, but even in Starfleet, Jim had not always followed the Vulcan's advice. Should he follow it now? Tru was more precious to him than all these horses put together…but a lone Indian boy had made his way into Jim's heart, too. It always seemed to come down to this. Commanding a starship or heading a family, it was the same. Difficult decisions.

Hoping against hope that Spock would prove wrong, he set Tru on her feet and said, "Okay, kiddo. We'll head out to that cave tomorrow. All of us."

Tru shouted for joy.

In the morning Jim and Antonia kept Tru home from school, and they rode out together, pulling along an extra horse for Lame Wolf's use. It would be Antonia's first visit to his lodge. Would they find the boy there? As they came through the canyon and prepared to cross the creek, Jim was relieved to see Lame Wolf in front of his cave. The boy sat in the sun working a rabbit skin stretched tightly over a wooden frame.

"Hello!" Jim called.

Lame Wolf solemnly stood and raised a hand in greeting.

The horses quickly covered the final distance. Tru jumped down from Shiloh and gave Lame Wolf a hug. Antonia and Jim dismounted. Antonia passed the boy a bag of homemade cookies. Jim looked into Lame Wolf's eyes—as unreadable as a Vulcan's—and handed him the reins to the extra horse.

"For the ride home," Jim said.

Tru was bursting with excitement. "Daddy says I can ride back with you, as long as we get home before dark!"

Serious as ever, Lame Wolf looked at Tru. Then he met Jim's gaze squarely and said, "We will come."

oooo

The ice in the creeks had thawed. All but the most sheltered drifts of snow had melted into the pine needles on the forest floor. Wildflowers swayed in the thick grass of the meadows as Tru and Lame Wolf made their way back to the ranch.

Tru felt giddy with happiness. Every touch of the breeze carried sweet scents and birdsong. Eager to race, she urged Shiloh into a gallop. Deer raised their heads and bolted away, their spotted fawns keeping pace beside them. Lame Wolf's full-sized horse overtook her and they both pulled up. The Indian did not share in her laughter.

"Not so fast!" he scolded.

"But I like to go fast," she argued.

"You are in my care," he reminded her. "You must do as I say."

Frowning at him, she declared, "You're not my father!"

They started into another stretch of woodland. Pretty birds darted among the trees, distracting Tru from her temper.

Lame Wolf said, "Your father is a good man. Has he always lived here in the mountains, raising horses?"

Tru giggled. "Oh, no. Daddy was in command of a starship. Uncle Spock was with him. They flew around in space." Proudly she added, "They were famous."

Lame Wolf grew thoughtful. "Yes, I once heard Spock call him 'captain'. It is better here, with the earth under our feet."

The trail turned into another meadow, where they startled a flock of quail. Tru pretended that her pony spooked, and sent Shiloh into a run. Letting go of the reins, she spread her arms like a bird and shouted, "Look at me! I'm flying!"

Lame Wolf thundered up beside her. Snaring Shiloh's bridle, he brought the pony to a halt.

"I told you, not so fast!" he shouted. "And with no hands, too! That is dangerous!"

Tru pouted. "Daddy lets me gallop!"

Lame Wolf's voice gentled a bit. "It is like you said, little True Friend. I am not your father." At that, he took a firm grip on her reins and would not release them.

Tru fumed at he led Shiloh home.

oooo

All afternoon, Jim worked at making kindling for the fireplace. It was not his favorite chore, but just now he needed the physical exertion to keep him sane. Hour by hour the sun lowered. It dropped below a distant peak, and the air took on a chill. Every fiber of his being clamored to jump into his skimmer and go looking for Tru. _How could he have left her alone in the woods with a vagabond Indian boy? What had he been thinking?_ Spock was right. Nothing was worth the risk to his daughter's safety.

Up at the house, Antonia kept busy in her own way, working on Lame Wolf's portrait and cooking. Judging by the good aromas drifting from the kitchen, she was preparing a feast. A welcome home feast...

As Jim swung the axe, Antonia's words came back to him. _We have to do more than gain the boy's trust. We have to trust him._ Simply put, but not so easy to implement. Every time Jim thought of Tru, his stomach went leaden. He did not often pray, but as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, he found himself pleading for his daughter's safe return.

Suddenly he heard horses' hooves nearing the yard. Then, a child's laughter. Relief flooded him and he let the axe drop to the ground. Tru and Lame Wolf entered the clearing on foot, leading their mounts.

Tru saw Jim. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, she ran up and threw her arms around him. "Daddy! Lame Wolf showed me a little waterfall! It was so pretty, with moss growing on the rocks." She scarcely stopped for breath. "Did you know that Idaho is a Shoshone word?" Turning to the boy, she urged, "Tell him what it means."

Lame Wolf said, "It means 'the sun comes down the mountain'."

"I didn't know that." Jim fought to keep his voice steady. "Did you two have a nice ride?"

Tru's enthusiasm dimmed. "It was nice, but he wouldn't let me have any fun." She glowered at Lame Wolf. "He's gotten worse than Jamie. He doesn't like me to gallop, either."

"You mean," Lame Wolf retorted, "that I would not let you break your neck."

Jim repressed a smile. Those two were already beginning to sound like a protective brother and his little sister. But was Lame Wolf here to stay? "Tru," he said, "go in the house and let your mother know you're home."

"But Shiloh…" She had been taught that the horse's comfort always came first.

"Just this once," Jim assured her. "We'll take good care of your pony."

In the barn, Jim and Lame Wolf silently brushed down the horses and settled them into their stalls for the night. Earlier, Jim had brought in Lame Wolf's colt and his dam. Now he watched as Lame Wolf entered the stall and stroked the leggy foal.

"Your father is Warcloud," the boy said to the young horse. "You will be great like him, little warrior. Do you like that name? Warrior."

Jim's heart warmed. "You've named him. Does that mean…"

Lame Wolf stood and faced him. "I have made my decision, Uncle. It is good here. Yes, I will go to school. I will live with you and Painting Woman and True Friend on the ranch." And then, for the first time, he smiled.

oooOOooo


End file.
